


Stars (and you. and me)

by expectopxtronxm



Series: HP Drabbles [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Constellations, Drabble, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Quidditch, Seeker's Games, falling asleep together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 09:21:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11272575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/expectopxtronxm/pseuds/expectopxtronxm
Summary: What he wanted to know was why Malfoy was lying in the grass at four in the morning, staring at the sky. What he wanted to know was why Malfoy had been flying in the middle of the night anyway. What he wanted to know was why he stayed when Harry arrived, why he agreed to Harry’s insane suggestion that they let the Snitch out, for old times’ sake. Why he laughed with Harry, rather than at him, for the first time in their lives. Why he’d genuinely seemed to want Harry’s company, to enjoy it.Harry sneaks out of the castle for a middle-of-the-night, insomnia-fueled flying session, only to find Malfoy seemed to have had the same thought. Instead of returning to the castle, he suggests a Seekers' game, and Malfoy agrees. Afterwards, the two talk and Harry begins to wonder if perhaps there is more to Malfoy than he first thought.(That sounds so cheesy, this is my first fic, be nice)





	Stars (and you. and me)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> So this is my first fic, just a quick little drabble that popped into my head and sort of wrote itself. One of my absolute favourite cliche Drarry tropes is them being 'Eighth Years' and Seekers' games (ahh) so I included both of those in here. I'm open to constructive criticism (in fact, I would love some!) and comments and kudos keep me warm at night. 
> 
> Enjoy! x

Harry left the locker rooms, his broom slung over his shoulder, and began making his way towards the castle. Malfoy had left before him, with a wave over his shoulder, that Harry tried to return while still half-tangled in his jumper, earning him a snort and an eye roll. Getting that reaction - getting any reaction - out of Malfoy pleased him far more than he cared to admit.

He’d also had far more fun during their impromptu Seekers’ game than he’d care to think about. He tried to tell himself that it was the joy of being on a broom, the exhilaration of speeding through the air, the giddy weightlessness of flying. And that was all certainly part of it. But a part of Harry, a part that was much easier to stifle or ignore during the day, when he was surrounded by people, than it was in the starlight, alone on the Quidditch pitch, insisted that a much larger part of it had to do with Malfoy.

Malfoy had changed after the war. They all had, but Malfoy was just…it was like he wasn’t even there anymore. Harry had found himself far more unsettled by this than he should be, far more unsettled than he could justify to Ron or Hermione, or himself. It sounded ridiculous, but after having watched so much about his life change for good, one thing he never thought wouldn’t be there, was his rivalry with Malfoy. 

And yes, they’d just lived through a war and things had happened and people had died and a schoolboy rivalry had turned into something far more deadly. But for some reason, Harry had thought that when they came back - when the dust had settled and the castle rebuilt and when they came back - that Malfoy would be waiting for him on the top step of the entryway, his face set in a scowl and an insult ready on his tongue. And when he wasn’t there, when Malfoy just wasn’t Malfoy, Harry was struck by the realisation that he missed it. 

And whatever that said about him, he didn’t particularly care to examine. What he did know, and what he could freely admit to himself, with courage borrowed from the stillness of the night, as he made his way through the frost-covered grass, was that he had enjoyed Malfoy’s company, even though they hadn’t been at each other’s throats. Perhaps especially because they hadn’t been at each other’s throats. Harry’s newfound courage allowed him to admit that Malfoy looked…nice, when he wasn’t scowling. That his smile was…nice. And that it suited him more than any other expression Harry had seen on him. And that his laugh was nice too. And that Harry wanted to hear it again. Wanted to be the one to charm that sound out of him. Wanted to be the reason that Malfoy forgot himself long enough to look truly, boyishly happy, like Harry had never seen him before.

Harry sighed, running a hand roughly through his hair and kicking at the ground. Something was wrong with him. 

He was met by an answering sigh to his right and he froze, scanning the pitch for the source of the noise.

“Malfoy?” Harry squinted into the dark, eyes picking out that familiar shock of white blond against the grass, glowing in the moonlight.

Malfoy hummed in response. Harry took the fact that he hadn’t been told to piss off as a sign to join him, stepping off the path and walking towards where he could just make out Malfoy lying in the grass. There was a hazy cloud of something hovering over him, and it wasn’t until Harry settled on his back next to Malfoy that he realised that it was smoke, from a cigarette that was perched between Malfoy’s lips.

Harry couldn’t help it; he gave an undignified snort that had Malfoy turning his head to glare at him. Harry had to remind himself to concentrate on what Malfoy was saying and not on the undeniable joy he felt at being on the receiving end of that glare again. 

“Something funny, Potter?”

“No, not really. It’s just you, with a Muggle cigarette.” Malfoy fixed him with a cold look and Harry shrugged a shoulder. “Just unexpected, is all.”

Malfoy frowned, opening his mouth to say something, before snapping it shut. He hitched a shoulder too, the one closest to Harry, and it brushed against Harry’s arm. He turned back to the sky, blowing out a puff of smoke. “I like it.”

That sounded like the only explanation he was going to give and Harry didn’t push it. He didn’t really care why Malfoy was smoking. What he wanted to know was why Malfoy was lying in the grass at four in the morning, staring at the sky. What he wanted to know was why Malfoy had been flying in the middle of the night anyway. What he wanted to know was why he stayed when Harry arrived, why he agreed to Harry’s insane suggestion that they let the Snitch out, for old times’ sake. Why he laughed with Harry, rather than at him, for the first time in their lives. Why he’d genuinely seemed to want Harry’s company, to enjoy it.

Whether his chest hurt in a way that wasn’t altogether unpleasant, too.

But he didn’t ask any of that. He didn’t need to. Watching Malfoy watching the smoke curl in front of his face was answer enough. He looked tired. He looked older than his 18 years. He looked just as lost as Harry felt, and Harry knew the need, the longing, for someone to understand, knew that it was part of what kept him awake at night, knew that no matter what they felt about each other, no matter their past, he and Malfoy were two sides of the same coin, and whether they liked it or not, they knew far more about each other than anyone else and maybe lying in the grass in the middle of the night with your sworn enemy was the closest either of them were ever going to get to understanding.

Harry only realised he’d been staring at Malfoy for far too long when Malfoy turned his head towards him and quirked an eyebrow. Harry felt his face flush involuntarily and turned away quickly, hoping Malfoy couldn’t tell in the dim light. He focused his attention on the sky instead, trying and failing to spot the constellations. 

He heard the grass ruffle as Malfoy turned his head back to look at the sky too, felt him sigh, taking another drag on the cigarette before stubbing it out on the grass.

They were silent for a long time. It was strangely companionable, and Harry found that he didn’t mind. That he kind of liked it. After a while, Harry began to wonder if Malfoy had fallen asleep. He snuck a glance at him out of the corner of his eye to find that Malfoy was still staring blankly at the sky.

Harry shivered, the cold suddenly seeping into his skin through his jumper. Malfoy looked at him again and rolled his eyes. Harry frowned and opened his mouth to speak, when he felt a thick blanket of warmth envelope him. The sudden warmth after lying on the cold ground for so long was heavenly, and Harry groaned appreciatively. 

He opened his eyes to find Malfoy looking at him strangely, sort of smiling, and Harry found himself grinning back. 

“Wandless Warming charms? Impressive.”

If Malfoy was caught off guard at the compliment, he didn’t show it. The fact that he didn’t immediately assume Harry was being sarcastic and bite back with a barbed retort of his own made Harry wonder exactly how much had changed between them, and whether it was as a result of the war, or that night. And exactly when he started thinking of there being anything between him and Malfoy. 

Malfoy smiled, and Harry, delirious with lack of sleep and giddy with left over adrenaline, found himself thinking he’s beautiful.

“Do you see that?” Malfoy’s voice pulled Harry out of his thoughts. He was pointing up at the sky. “That right there. That’s the constellation I was named after.” Harry watched as he traced a finger through the air, following a path of stars. When Malfoy dropped his hand back down, Harry mimicked his movement, tracing the constellation with his own finger. 

“Draco,” he whispered, his voice a little hoarse. The word felt strange in his mouth. 

Malfoy hummed in reply.

They fell back into silence and Harry felt his eyelids drooping, suddenly aware of how tired he was. He turned to Malfoy again, to tell him that he was going head back to castle, to try to get some sleep before class. Only, Malfoy was already asleep, and Harry was transfixed. 

His face was completely relaxed, the lines on his forehead smoothed out, his mouth hanging open a little. His eyelashes fanned across his cheeks, casting delicate shadows, and his hair was spread around his head, still damp from the shower. 

Harry had to blink hard, several times, shaking his head once to clear it. He considered his options. Malfoy seemed deep in sleep and would likely hex him if he woke him. He wasn’t likely to be too pleased if Harry left him sleeping on the pitch - for Madam Hooch to find in the morning - either. 

He could stay, Harry mused. He could stay right there, stretched out on his back on the frosty grass, blanketed by Malfoy’s warming charm. He could slow his breathing to match Malfoy’s could fall asleep to the sound of his gentle snores. 

He could do that, and risk Malfoy killing him in his sleep. Or killing him when he woke up in the morning and found that they’d fallen asleep together. Not to mention that unrelenting questions Harry would undoubtably have to face from Ron and Hermione in the morning. 

No, he was being ridiculous. They’d played a game of Quidditch, they’d laid on the grass in what Harry thought of as companionable silence, they’d even enjoyed themselves a little. But Harry had to draw the line at falling asleep next to Malfoy. This was Malfoy.

But then Malfoy shuffled in his sleep, sighing softly, and his head lolled gently onto Harry’s shoulder, and really, his decision was made for him, wasn’t it? He was going to fall asleep next to Malfoy, with the other boy’s head on his shoulder, their sides pressed tightly together and Malfoy was most probably going to kill him and Harry didn’t give a toss what it meant that he didn’t care.

He shuffled a little, trying to get comfortable, careful not to jostle Malfoy, and closed his eyes.


End file.
